


The Last Day of Christmas

by Luthien



Series: Luthien Does Writer's Month 2019 [18]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Airplanes, Alternate Universe - Australia, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Australia, Champagne, Christmas, Christmas Smut, F/M, Hemsworths, Holiday Fling, Romance, Roses, Tea, holiday romance, poles
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-09
Updated: 2020-01-20
Packaged: 2021-03-07 13:22:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21733234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luthien/pseuds/Luthien
Summary: Jaime and Brienne fly to Sydney, where Jaime's final Christmas present to Brienne awaits them.Prompt: "hope"
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Series: Luthien Does Writer's Month 2019 [18]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1442845
Comments: 94
Kudos: 120





	1. Jaime

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Nire, slipsthrufingers and firesign for looking this over for me.
> 
> Note: the rating will increase.

_"...if you want to impress the visitors, of course, you come to Sydney."_

**\- Paul Keating, prime minister of Australia, 1991-96**

~

Brienne was quiet as the plane took off, looking out the window as the Gold Coast fell away below them, and they climbed steadily until they'd reached cruising altitude. She was still quiet after Jaime undid his seatbelt and got up from the leather recliner beside hers, wandering over to the dining table, which was bare apart from its white linen table cloth.

"Do you feel like something to eat?" he asked.

She glanced up, as if he'd surprised her while deep in thought—and maybe he had. She'd been surprised to discover that they weren't taking a commercial flight to Sydney. Jaime probably should have warned her, but he'd just assumed…

Did he keep assuming a little too much for Brienne's comfort? It was possible. There were so many details of his life that were just so… embedded, so obvious to him, that he didn't stop to think about them, much less question how out of the ordinary they might seem to other people who weren't used to such things—other people like Brienne.

"I don't feel very hungry. Not after that lunch." She fell silent. "But maybe a cup of tea?" she added, just as Jaime was beginning to wonder if her lack of appetite had more to do with what had happened after lunch than how much she'd had to eat.

"That's easy," he said. "Just press this button"—he indicated a button on the far left of a small panel beneath the window, and pressed it—"and…"

A young woman entered the cabin. She was smartly dressed in the crimson uniform worn by all the staff who worked on the family's small fleet of aircraft. Jaime didn't remember ever seeing her before, but her name tag said 'Jeyne'.

"Yes, Mr Lannister. What can I get for you?" she asked.

"Scotch on the rocks for me—Laphroaig will do—and a cup of tea for Ms Tarth," Jaime said, nodding towards Brienne.

"Certainly. What type of tea would you prefer, Ms Tarth? We have-"

"Just a plain, ordinary cup of tea, please. Strong, with a dash of milk."

"Certainly," Jeyne said again, though Jaime was pretty certain he saw the corner of her mouth twitch just a tiny bit.

Once Jeyne was gone again, Brienne got up and came over to sit at the table across from Jaime. "I've never travelled in a private jet before," she said, looking out the window instead of at him.

"It's really a lot like travelling on any other plane," Jaime said.

"No, it really isn't." Brienne looked at him then, and to his relief her expression wasn't quite as serious as her tone. "You've never travelled in economy class, have you?" she asked, a hint of a smile in her eyes.

"Is it so different?" he asked.

"I'm pretty sure you wouldn't enjoy it," she said, and now the corners of her mouth were curving upwards.

He got up, aware of her eyes on him as he came round to her side of the table, and took the seat beside hers. "It's just as well that we're on a private jet then, wouldn't you say?" It was a rhetorical question, but it was accompanied by a real, if silent, one, there in his eyes for her to read if she wanted to. Brienne bridged the gap between them and kissed him in answer. It was an awkward position, and uncomfortable with the arm of his chair getting in the way and digging into his side, but Brienne's hands came up to rest on his shoulders, pulling him closer, and then her right hand kept going, slipping up to cup his jaw before her palm rubbed slowly back and forth over his stubble. If he'd been a cat—or maybe the lion that Shae had drawn him as—he might have wanted to purr. He kissed her back.

Somehow, they were still there, hands all over each other and Brienne halfway into his lap by that point, when Jeyne returned a few minutes later. Jeyne coughed discreetly from somewhere over near the door that led to the galley and cockpit, but still loud enough that it penetrated the haze of want that engulfed him. Before Jaime could move, though, Brienne was tensing against him and then jerking away, sliding back into her chair with a thump, her embarrassment plain.

She looked determinedly out the window as Jeyne set down first a teapot and milk jug, and then a teacup and saucer—all in the red and gold Royal Crown Derby imari pattern that his father insisted on using—for Brienne before placing Jaime's Scotch in front of him, and departing at a brisk pace.

"She's gone," Jaime said, when Brienne continued to look out the window as if fascinated by the view of the really pretty boring countryside below.

She turned and looked at him, and he let out a little sigh of relief, feeling the ripples of it run through him.

"I shouldn't have…" she began.

"Why not?" he said. "We're having a holiday fling, and we're on our own private plane."

"Your plane," she reminded Jaime.

"_Ours_," he insisted. "For today, right now, it's _ours_."

She didn't answer, but instead poured her tea, adding the little dash of milk that she was so particular about. When at last she lifted the cup to her mouth and took an experimental sip, her eyes smiled over the rim at him.

That was as close to agreement as he was likely to get. Jaime decided to take it. He let out another sigh, consciously making his shoulders relax, and sipped his Scotch.

They talked, then, about everything and nothing: little personal likes and dislikes, why Australia was going to beat England—or not—in the cricket this summer, what Jaime's impressions of London had been the last time he'd visited, what Brienne expected Sydney to be like…

"Why don't we go and sit on the couch," Jaime suggested, as Brienne finished off her second cup of tea. "It's more comfortable. I've always thought my father chose these dining chairs as-" He stopped. He hadn't intended to mention his father again today.

"And there aren't any chair arms to get in the way over there," Brienne amended smoothly, as if his father's name had not been spoken.

Jaime could have kissed her, and very nearly did. But then, that was the whole point of moving to the couch, so he refrained. For the moment. He got up, and Brienne rose from the table as well. "I'll just get Jeyne to come in and take these things away first," she said—which was, Jaime had to agree, the best plan to make sure they weren't disturbed again until the plane started its descent into Sydney. Brienne reached for the panel below the window on this side of the table, the twin of the one Jaime had used to ring for Jeyne earlier. "Which button?" she asked.

"The one on the left," Jaime said, turning away—and then stopping dead as a thick metal pole started slowly rising from a panel in the floor near the back of the cabin.

Brienne let out a cry of surprise, and Jaime could not blame her for that at all. "Holy fucking…" he breathed as they both watched the pole continue its upward trajectory until it stopped just short of the ceiling.

"What…" Brienne began, and then seemed at a loss for words. Her eyes eyes were like saucers.

Jaime really couldn't blame her for that, either. He closed his eyes and let out a deep breath. _Please_, he thought. _Please._ But when he opened his eyes again, the pole was still there.

Damn.

"It's a pole," he said.

"Yes, I can see that," Brienne agreed. "Why did it just come up out of the floor?" She asked the question calmly, but her eyes were still very round.

"It's for… um pole dancing." He winced as Brienne's eyebrows shot right up to her hairline, and tried again. "Not for me. It's not mine."

"But this is your plane, isn't it?"

"It's the one I mostly use now, yes, but…"

"But?"

"_Tyrion._" It was at once both an accusation and an explanation.

"What does this have to do with Tyrion?" Brienne asked.

"This was the plane that he used, back when he worked for the company. He partied pretty hard in those days—that was before he met Shae—and he had this plane fitted out with… various things. It's been refitted since then. Everything else is gone. Even the disco balls, thank God, and the… Well, never mind. I guess the pole was simply too difficult to get rid of, so they just… left it."

"So, let me get this straight," Brienne said after a long pause. "You're telling me that your brother used to take pole dancers flying in this plane."

"Amongst others," Jaime said, his heart already beginning to sink. Brienne wasn't into that sort of scene. She was barely into any sort of scene, from everything he'd learned from her over the past few days. "Not just pole dancers."

"Not just pole dancers," Brienne echoed. She looked at him, and then back at the pole, and then back at him again. "I'm shocked," she said, sounding deadly serious, "utterly shocked to learn that the great Jaime Lannister, the _golden lion_ of the Lannisters, would be flying about in a _second hand_ private jet with a, with a..."

And then her serious expression just _dissolved_, as Jaime watched, and she fell back into her chair, laughing.

She was still laughing when the music started, blaring out from the speakers that, now that Jaime looked up, turned out to be still installed in the ceiling where Tyrion had left them. He recognised the song at once, the famous opening guitar chords, and then the drum, starting up a hard, steady beat, more guitars joining in, and then the vocal:

_Ridin' down the highway  
_ _Goin' to a show  
Stop in all the byways  
Playin' rock 'n' roll_

Brienne had stopped laughing by this time, but there was a look of unholy glee in her eyes as they met Jaime's.

"AC/DC?" she managed before biting her lip, so hard that the skin turned pale and bloodless for a second, in an obvious attempt to hold in more laughter.

"It's a cover," Jaime said, as if this somehow improved the situation. It was more than a little surreal. "That's not Bon Scott singing," he added, just as the song reached the chorus and proved him right:

_It's a long way to the top  
If you wanna ride a pole  
It's a long way to the top  
If I'm gonna ride your pole_

Their eyes met again, and it was too much for Brienne. She threw back her head and _howled_ with laughter. Jaime watched her, oddly frozen in place. He'd wanted so much to impress her, to show her just how good things could be with him, to make her see that it was worth staying longer than just the week they'd agreed to, but instead, instead…

The laughter took him unawares, erupting in a great wheeze that caught in his throat, making him choke. He sank down into his chair, face in his hands as he _convulsed_ with helpless laughter, while Brienne giggled and hiccuped beside him.

And still the music continued. It required a monumental act of will to take a deep breath and hold it long enough for him to stop laughing and reach across Brienne, but somehow Jaime managed it. He jammed his finger down hard on the button that had started it all just as the bagpipes joined in.

Instantly there was silence throughout the cabin, apart from the sounds still coming from Brienne. She'd gone pink in the face, her pale lashes fanned across her cheek. She looked ridiculous, and happy and… perfect.

Not willing to meet her eyes, Jaime got up and made his way around to the other side of the table to press the button on the other panel—the one that would summon Jeyne instead of turning the cabin into… well not quite a flying brothel, but not quite _not_ a flying brothel, either.

Jeyne appeared almost immediately. "What can I get you, Mr Lannister?" she asked. She was well-trained. She must have heard the music, and probably the laughter as well, but she didn't give away any curiosity she might be feeling by as much as a flicker of an eyelid.

"Ms Tarth needs a glass of water. A large one. And bring one in for me, too," he told her.

"Certainly," Jeyne said, and disappeared as quickly as she'd arrived.

"Are you all right?" Jaime asked, as Brienne's laughter slowly subsided.

"Oh, I'm fine," she said. "It was just the p-pole." She caught Jaime's eye as she uttered the fateful word and he felt the laughter bubble up inside him even as Brienne started laughing again.

They were still laughing and trying _very_ hard not to look at each other when Jeyne returned with the requested glasses of water.

~*~

It was early evening when they flew in over Sydney. There was the huge and unmistakable expanse of Sydney Harbour, straddled by the familiar giant coathanger that was the Harbour Bridge, while nearby the shell-like sails of the Opera House shone white gold in the last of the Christmas Day sunshine. Jaime spared it all only the briefest of glances; he was more interested in watching Brienne's face as she looked down on his city for the first time.

She looked… impressed. But impressed enough? Only time would tell. And not very much time, either. Tomorrow he would pull out all the stops, and play what he hoped was his trump—not to mix metaphors too much. Today was about first impressions, though, and you only had one chance at them.

"I didn't think it was quite that big," Brienne said. "The bridge, I mean. One sees pictures, but…"

"Wait until you see it from the water," Jaime said.

"So you plan to take a boat out on the harbour, then?" Brienne's eyes narrowed a little as she shifted her gaze from the panorama below to look at him. "You still haven't said exactly _why_ we had to travel to Sydney."

"No, I haven't," he agreed, trying not to smile, and failing. "But if we hadn't taken this flight, you never would have known about the p-"

"Stop!" Brienne commanded, holding up one hand. "Don't you _dare_ say it. I need to be in a fit state to get off this plane when we land."

Jaime's smile grew impish. "You don't know what I was about to say."

"Oh, yes, I do. And you're _not_ going to say it."

She really did look magnificent when she forgot to be polite and self-effacing—reticent, reserved, or whatever you wanted to call it. When Brienne put all of that to one side and was instead just so _certain_ about what she wanted—or didn't want—she was again the woman that he'd first seen that day in Tyrion's coffee shop. The slightest of tremors ran through him. Or maybe not even a tremor but just a tiny shiver of anticipation.

His grin grew broader. "All right. I won't say p-"

Brienne clapped a hand over his mouth, and the crucial word turned into an 'umph'. He held up his hands in surrender and slowly, _very_ slowly, she let her hand fall.

"_Don't_ say it again until we're on the gr- No, until we're out of the airport," she said.

"Okay," he said. "I'll do that. For you. I won't mention…" He paused, and grinned again as Brienne's hand rose in the air and hovered in front of his face. "I won't mention anything that Tyrion might have had installed in this plane until after we've left the airport."

Brienne's hand stayed where it was a moment longer, and then returned to her lap.

"I suppose we'll just have to find something else to do until we land." He looked at her from beneath his lashes. They were a deep shade of gold, he knew; he'd received enough comments about them over the years. They weren't pale, like Brienne's, which were nevertheless equally distinctive, and almost as fascinating as the remarkably blue eyes beneath them that were currently fixed on his. He wondered-

"Mr Lannister, Ms Tarth." Jaime turned to look, and found that Jeyne was standing beside their seats. He hadn't noticed her approach. "Our descent into Sydney has begun, so if you wouldn't mind fastening your seatbelts? I'll be in the front of the plane until we land." She nodded and left before Jaime could respond.

He buckled his seatbelt. There would be time enough for everything once they were back on the ground.

Or, at least, he really hoped so.

He went back to watching Brienne, but she'd turned her attention away from him and was looking out the window as Sydney came ever closer beneath them. They were descending rapidly now, flying low over the suburbs closest to the airport, full of small houses with tile roofs in brown and grey and red.

"There's water on either side of the runway," Brienne remarked in surprise, as the plane made the final approach to come in to land.

"The airport was built right on the edge of Botany Bay," Jaime told her, "and a couple of the runways are on reclaimed land that sticks out into the bay. Don't worry," he added, as Brienne frowned out the window, "planes hardly ever misjudge the distance and end up in the water."

"Hardly ever," Brienne repeated, turning to look at him, eyes narrowed. "Why would you say that?"

"I"ve got to talk about something," he protested, "and since you won't let me talk about… Tyrion's equipment…"

She continued to frown at him for a second before, quite suddenly, her frown resolved itself into a smile. "Oh, Jaime," she said, shaking her head, but she was laughing again. Quiet laughter this time, rather than the hysterical giggles that she'd been reduced to when confronted with the pole. She reached over to him again, but this time her hand came to rest on top of his, and it stayed there as the plane's wheels touched the ground, and all the way along the runway until at last the plane came to a stop.

In almost no time at all they were saying goodbye to Jeyne and the captain at the door. Brienne actually thanked them for working on Christmas Day, which wasn't really needful, but, he was learning, was very much a Brienne sort of thing to do. All the crews of the Lannister fleet were extremely well compensated for the work they performed. If they didn't want to be ready whenever their employers needed them, well, they could easily get a job somewhere else, couldn't they?

As they walked up the jetway, Jaime texted Peck. Peck responded immediately, to let Jaime know that he'd left the car in the usual space and would return with their luggage as soon as it was unloaded.

'The usual space' was right out the front, just beyond the taxi rank. Peck had brought the silver Mercedes and had, somehow, beaten them back to the car with the luggage. He was sitting in the driver's seat, waiting, as Jaime opened the back door and waved Brienne into the car. He followed her in, hoping that there were no photographers lurking around the airport on Christmas Day. It wasn't likely, but it was always possible.

As if reading his mind—and Jaime wouldn't entirely put it past him—Peck took off at speed while Jaime was still fastening his seatbelt. He looked up to find Brienne giving him a slight questioning look as she glanced at the back of Peck's head. Clearly, introductions were in order.

"Brienne, this is Peck, one of my household assistants. Peck, this is Ms Tarth, who'll be staying with us for the next few days."

"Nice to meet you, Ms Tarth," Peck said, nodding at her in the rear vision mirror.

"Oh, please call me Brienne. Is Peck your first name or your last name?" Brienne asked.

Peck chuckled. "Neither. My full name's Josmyn Peckledon, but everybody just calls me Peck."

"Then it's nice to meet you, Peck."

Brienne gave Peck one of her smiles. It was not just polite but friendly and warm as well, though not as warm as the smiles she shared with Jaime, he was pleased to note—and then wondered at himself. He wasn't quite sure why something as simple as a smile should matter to him, or why there should be any circumstances in which Peck, of all people, would be able to stir jealousy in him. And yet, when it came to Brienne, it seemed that any and every feeling was possible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am in debt - if that's the right word - to Nire for the pole. When I was working on this chapter, I wondered out loud about what the interior of Jaime's private jet might be like. I was thinking linen table cloths, champagne, full silver service, but Nire said: "Disco balls? Pole dancing pole?" and... the rest is history.
> 
> Thanks - again if that's the right word - to slipsthrufingers, firesign, Telanu and Undun for laughing and egging me on as well.
> 
> The song that's referenced in this chapter is, of course, It's a Long Way to the Top by AC/DC. This story is intentionally Australian in a very specific sort of way, and a bit of accadacca doesn't hurt. ;)


	2. Jaime

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The end of Christmas Day, in Sydney.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note change of rating.
> 
> Thanks to slipsthrufingers and Nire for beta help and hand-holding.

The journey home was a quick one. The road from the airport wasn't deserted, but it might as well have been, compared to the usual Sydney traffic. The Mercedes provided a smooth ride, and had plenty of legroom in the back even for people with legs as long as Jaime's—and Brienne's. He glanced down at them. The skirt of her dress had ridden up a little, revealing her knee. It was a shapely knee, just like the so very long leg it belonged to. He'd grown very fond of that knee during the long drive in the Aston Martin earlier in the day.

"What about the Aston Martin? How is it getting back to Sydney?" Brienne asked, and Jaime couldn't help wondering if she was reading his mind. Although maybe it was just the fact that Jaime's hand has somehow slipped down to clasp Brienne's knee, just as it had when they were driving in the Aston Martin, that had reminded her.

"Bronn will drive it down tomorrow," he replied, as they turned onto Southern Cross Drive.

"Isn't tomorrow a bank holiday?" Brienne asked.

"Yes, it's a public holiday. Why?" Jaime said, not sure what that had to do with it.

"Well, wouldn't Bronn prefer to spend the day with Melisandre?"

"I am sure that he would, but that's not what I pay him for," Jaime said, with a tiny huff of laughter.

Brienne looked at him then, in a way that was perhaps a little more distant than usual. "I suppose so," was all she said, but she looked out the window and watched Sydney pass by with apparent interest for a few minutes after that. 

What had he said wrong? Jaime didn't know. He'd just stated a couple of facts, hadn't he? But clearly Brienne hadn't appreciated something he'd said, or perhaps the way he'd said it. Was he imagining things, or did her knee feel tenser than there had been a moment ago? Or was he just overthinking everything? No one had ever made him overthink things before. No one had ever made him even _think_ much about the things he said or did. But now he was doing both, because Brienne was like no one else and he wanted desperately for her to not just stay but to _want_ to stay. Here. With him.

Brienne didn't say anything more until they entered the Eastern Distributor tunnel, but when she turned to smile at him, Jaime felt the relief flow through him like a wave. 

"How far is it?" she asked. "I just realised that I have no idea where you live."

"I live in the inner eastern suburbs, right by the water," Jaime said. "Point Piper. It's not that far."

Brienne nodded, as if this made sense. She couldn't know that some of the most expensive real estate in Australia—and indeed the world—was to be found in that small cluster of exclusive suburbs along the southern shore of the harbour just to the east of the city, but he was certain she knew enough about him to be sure that wherever he lived would be the opposite of the wrong side of the tracks. 

"You like being in sight of the water," she said, and Jaime blinked in surprise—but it was a pleased sort of surprise. Once again, she made him feel as if she were seeing him, Jaime, instead of just another Lannister with an expensive price tag attached.

He smiled at her. Sometimes it felt as if he could never stop smiling at her, but he still did it anyway, hoping he didn't look too much like a lovestruck fool, and leaned across, bridging the small gap between them, as if to kiss her cheek. And he did kiss her cheek, soft and gentle like he'd never been with anybody, but then his lips drifted up and he whispered, "_Pole_," against her ear.

"Noooo!" Brienne cried, and Peck glanced around to see if everything was all right, but Brienne was already laughing.

"I promised to wait until we were out of the airport," Jaime reminded her. "It's really pretty amazing I lasted this long."

Brienne drew in a deep breath and pressed her lips together, hard. She waited a few seconds and let it all out at once before she said, "You must have been distracted."

"Yeah, I must have been," Jaime agreed. He closed the distance between them again, and this time he didn't whisper 'pole' in her ear. He didn't whisper anything at all. He kissed her again, on the lips this time.

Brienne pulled back, and darted a glance at Peck, who was looking straight ahead, his eyes firmly fixed on the road. "Later," she said in a voice just loud enough for Jaime to hear, but she softened the blow quite a bit by resting her head against his shoulder and laying her hand over his, where it still clasped her knee.

Jaime sighed, and turned his head to press a kiss against her forehead.

Before long, the Mercedes had emerged from the tunnel onto New South Head Road and soon they were making their way through familiar, steep leafy streets. A few minutes after that Peck pulled up in Jaime's driveway. At the touch of a button, the remotely controlled wrought iron gates slowly opened inward. Once the car had driven in and the gates closed behind them, they came to a stop outside the front door.

"Home, sweet home." Jaime released his seatbelt and got out of the car. He took Brienne's hand as she joined him. "Peck will see to the luggage," he said, fairly certain that he was correct in interpreting the look Brienne sent in the direction of the boot. "Come inside."

Brienne looked up and swallowed, taking in the two storeys of honey gold stucco that were visible at this level, the gable windows on the uppermost floor, and the decorative turret at the top, before her gaze came to rest on the massive front door. "I didn't expect…" She looked around again, her eyes stopping for a moment on the low wall at the front, the same shade of golden yellow as the house, and the beautifully manicured—and extremely thick—hedge behind it. The wall was topped with sturdy wrought iron bars that matched the gates, though you couldn't see them from this side. "For some reason I expected you to live in an apartment, not a house."

"Like the one on the Gold Coast?" Jaime wondered how Brienne would react if he ever decided to whisper the word 'pool' in her ear instead of 'pole'. It was tempting to try it. "I did live in an apartment for quite a while. Right in the middle of the city. But I missed the direct access to the water, and when this place came up for sale a couple of years ago…" He shrugged. "Places around here are always a good investment and they don't come on the market all that often. It seemed too good an opportunity to pass up." There was also the fact that buying what was so obviously intended to be a family home had been a way to keep his father off his back—at least for a little while—in his relentless quest to get Jaime married and settled. But Jaime didn't need to mention that right now. He didn't want to think about his father at all, much less say his name. Not until he absolutely had to.

He led her into the house. "I don't really use this level," he explained as he took her past rooms filled with furniture hidden under holland covers, before he led the way downstairs.

"There's more?" Brienne said slowly.

"The house is built on the side of a hill. There's four storeys altogether. I mostly live downstairs. The main bedroom's just along there." He nodded along a hallway as they reached the bottom of the first flight of stairs, but didn't stop, instead continuing down.

When he got to the bottom of the second flight of stairs, he stepped to one side and waited for Brienne to descend the last few steps to join him. The room was huge, easily twice the size of the main ground floor room in Tyrion's house, and the eastern wall was one long row of windows. But Jaime wasn't looking out at the spectacular view of Sydney Harbour that he knew so well—and which had been one of the main reasons he'd bought this particular house. He was more interested in watching Brienne.

She stopped stock still at the foot of the stairs and just stared—and _yes_, Jaime thought. _Yes._ She liked the view. Of course she did. Who wouldn't? And it wasn't just the view by itself. This house was a showpiece, as beautiful as the view, but he'd made sure it was comfortable and livable as well. Of course she'd like it here. Of could she _did_ like it here.

"What do you think?" Jaime asked at last when Brienne remained silent.

"It's… quite a view," Brienne said, and swallowed. "That's Sydney Harbour?"

"Yes," Jaime said. "The Bridge and the Opera House are off to the left a bit, and over there where all those trees are, directly across from us, is the zoo."

"Oh," Brienne said. That was all. Just 'oh'.

_What did that mean?_ Jaime wondered. Her whole reaction—or lack thereof—to his home was starting to make him feel a bit off-balance.

"Would you like a drink?" he asked. "Take a seat and I'll see what Pia's left in the refrigerator for us."

"Pia? Who's she?"

"She's my other household assistant. She and Peck live in a flat over the garage—that's where they'll both be once Peck's put the car away. You'll see Pia in the morning."

"Oh," Brienne said again.

"So…?" Jaime prompted when again Brienne went silent. "Would you like a drink?"

She didn't reply at once, and the longer she hesitated the more off-balance Jaime began to feel. But then she smiled, that smile he'd got to know over the lifetime—his new life—that had begun three days ago. "A drink would be lovely," Brienne said.

"Champagne?" he asked. "I feel like celebrating."

"We've already celebrated Christmas. What are we celebrating tonight?"

"You, me, together—in my home," Jaime said. _Happiness_, he thought, but it seemed like tempting fate to say it, so he kept it to himself.

"Okay," Brienne said. It was a single syllable more than the "oh" that had unsettled him, and yet there was a world of difference in the way she said it. 

Jaime took two champagne flutes down from the top cabinet, opened the fridge, and scanned its contents. There were several bottles of white wine chilling there, sauvignon blanc and pinot gris and chardonnay, but he spotted what he was looking for almost immediately, lurking behind the rest: the familiar yellow and gold bottle of Louis Roederer Cristal Brut.

He would have to remember to give Pia a new year bonus on top of the one he'd given her for Christmas.

Jaime popped the cork and tilted one of the champagne flutes sideways as he slowly filled it. He handed it to Brienne, and then filled the other for himself. Brienne made as if to sip her champagne, but Jaime reached out and placed one hand over the top of her glass.

"Not yet," he said, and led the way over to the central window. The terraced garden stretched out below them: on the first level was the swimming pool, then lawns and bits of garden descending like giant steps, one after the other, until, right at the bottom was the path that led to the boathouse and his private jetty. Beyond that were the dark blue early evening waters of Sydney Harbour, dotted here, there and everywhere, with yachts and smaller pleasure craft of every description. She was in a tranquil mood tonight, his harbour, as if drawing a deep breath before the hive of activity that she would become tomorrow, on her busiest day of the year. "This is my favourite view, so I wanted to share it with you when I made this toast."

"It's a beautiful view," Brienne agreed. She'd said as much when she first saw it, but she was smiling now, so he thought she might mean it this time.

"I just wanted to say: to us," Jaime said, and raised his glass.

Brienne bit her lip. "Jaime, I…" she began. "It's only for a few more days. You remember that, don't you?" Her blue eyes were serious.

"Four more days," Jaime corrected. "And we'll be together for those four days. You and me. _Us_." He kept his glass right where it was, raised in a toast, and didn't take his eyes off hers. Four more days, and then more after that if luck was on his side, if he could persuade her to stay—if the next twenty-four hours went according to plan. 

Brienne looked right back at him and, after a moment that went on far longer than Jaime would have liked, she raised her glass. "To us," she said as their glasses clinked against each other.

Jaime watched over the rim of his glass as Brienne raised her own to her lips. To have her here, with him. That was all he wanted. Was it too much to ask? It shouldn't be too much, and yet somehow it seemed as if it might be. He wanted her badly, and not just in _that_ way. He'd tried so hard, for so long, not to want anything—or anyone—too much. And yet, here he was, proposing a toast that could have been designed to tempt fate, and drinking to it. 

The champagne seemed extra cold and fizzy going down, or maybe it was just that Jaime was hyper-aware of everything. He felt almost as if the bubbles had got into his bloodstream and all of him was filled with more fizz and pop—lightness—than usual. He set his glass down on the windowsill and leaned forward, his hand on Brienne's shoulder as he raised his lips to kiss her.

She met him halfway, and somehow she was kissing him instead of the other way around, they were kissing each other, and Jaime felt the fizz of champagne on his lips and in his head, in his heart, exploding like tiny fireworks.

He'd intended to ask Brienne if she wanted something to eat after they'd made their toast and tried the champagne, but suddenly food was the farthest thing from his mind. 

"I've missed you so much today," he breathed against her lips. "It seems like forever since I last touched you properly."

He half-expected her to say the sensible thing, to suggest that they stop to eat, or have a rest after a long day, or at least finish the champagne first. Instead, Brienne set down her glass beside his and said, "I've missed you, too." Before Jaime really knew what was happening, her hands were cupping his face and sliding up into his hair and she was pressed up against him and kissing him with hard desperation.

They made it to the nearest couch, still kissing, as Jaime fumbled with Brienne's zip. He sighed against her lips as the bodice of her dress slipped down off her shoulders and her lovely, soft breasts, a nice little handful each, were bared to his touch. The pendant he'd given her lay just above them, sparkling against her bare skin. He pictured how she'd look wearing it and nothing else, and his jeans felt suddenly way too tight.

He found a nipple and circled it insistently with two fingers, coaxing it to swift reaction. He grinned at her sudden gasp. Her body was an instrument that he was more than willing to practise on, seeking and finding all its secrets, until he became a virtuoso. It would take a lot of practice, of course, but he was up for it. Very much _up_, in fact. He bent to lick the nipple, and elicited another tiny gasp from Brienne, so he closed his mouth over it and _sucked_. This time, he was rewarded with a sort of strangled moan. Suppressing a grin, Jaime laved the peaked nipple over and over with his tongue as his hand on her other breast tweaked that nipple and-

With a deep groan, Brienne wrenched herself away. Not really away, not so far that they were no longer touching at all, but just enough to free her breasts from his attentions. "Too much," she whispered harshly, and then her hand found his crotch and cupped his hard cock through his jeans. It was Jaime's turn to groan, then, as his head fell back and all coherent thought fled.

By the time Jaime surfaced again, they were tangled together. He was kneading one of Brienne's breasts, and she was making little whimpering noises in the back of her throat as she made her way along the side of his neck, one tantalising little butterfly kiss at a time. His jeans were unzipped and her hand was cupping his straining erection through the thin barrier of his underwear, stroking the length of him with her thumb up to the damp spot near the waistband. He couldn't have stopped himself from pushing back into her touch even if he'd wanted to—and he definitely didn't want to. He didn't want to stop, and yet it wasn't enough. He let out a long groan, half delight, half frustration. He didn't think he'd ever been harder, or wanted anybody more than he wanted her right now—not even that first time, when he hadn't been quite able to believe that this was truly happening.

"Let's go upstairs," he said hoarsely.

Brienne raised her head. Her cheeks were wildly flushed, and her eyes were as dark as the waters of the harbour outside—darker. It seemed to take a moment for his words to fully make sense to her, but when they did she smiled. "Okay," she said, and shook her head a little, as if to try and clear it. As she did so, he saw something beneath the sweep of her hair, something that glinted a little as it moved.

She was still wearing the earrings he'd given her. The ones with the picture of Thor on them. He reached out and touched one. "You're still wearing these," he said.

"My Hemsworths," she said, in the way another woman might say "my diamonds". As if they were something precious. "I'll take them off when we get upstairs. I wouldn't want them to get caught on… anything."

They grinned at each other then, like two mischievous children—except, he thought, as his grin slowly faded, they weren't children. Not at all.

"And you're still wearing this," Brienne added, reaching out to touch the chain around his neck.

"I'll take it off when we get upstairs so it's safe," he promised her. It felt oddly like a vow, like he'd given his word. And giving his word to her… It felt right.

It was hard—_difficult_—to take his hands off her, to feel the loss of her hands on him, but he did it. In a moment, they'd be upstairs and he'd have her in his bed. His own bed. His hands actually trembled at the thought.

"Come on," he said, and, taking her by the hand as he held onto his jeans with the other, he led Brienne to his own bedroom, in his own home, for the very first time. It wasn't far, just up one flight of stairs and along the hallway, but he begrudged every second it took to get there. He was kicking off his shoes—or trying to—even as the bedroom door slammed shut behind them. In the end, he had to sit down on the end of the bed to loosen the laces before he could pull his shoes off. It was an action so ordinary that it didn't seem to belong, on what felt like the most extraordinary of nights, but then his jeans and underwear were following his shoes and socks onto the floor, and he was pulling his t-shirt off over his head—and suddenly there were no more clothes to deal with. He undid the clasp of the chain around his neck, and set it down carefully on the bedside table.

He turned around to find that Brienne had beaten him to it. There she was, completely nude and lying back on the covers with her arms spread wide in invitation, like some sort of goddess in a painting. His goddess. _His_, and on his bed, the only woman he'd ever brought to this room. The only woman he'd ever…

He felt like just flinging himself down on top of her, so that he could feel all of her against him at once as he pressed her down into the mattress, _his, his, his_—but that was a boy's wish, self-indulgent and self-absorbed. Jaime knew he was many things, not all of them good or admirable, but wasn't a boy any longer, and hadn't been for… oh, at least three days now.

He sat down on the side of the bed. It felt a little like an echo of their first time, when he'd sat beside Brienne and slowly rubbed moisturiser into her sunburnt back until neither of them could take it a moment longer—except this time Brienne was lying on her back, watching him with the eyes of someone who was no longer a stranger. He leaned down to kiss her, oddly soft—no not _soft_, but gentle now, and almost unhurried where only moments ago he'd been close to frantic. 

Brienne's arms came up around his neck, pulling him down to her, so firmly that only a hand pressed hastily against the headboard saved him from losing balance. 

Her lips were softer and more pliant, and yet more demanding than they'd been downstairs. How was that even possible? Jaime didn't know, but he wasn't questioning it. One kiss turned into two turned into three. By the time he drew back to take a breath, he was lying on his side pressed up close against Brienne, his hand lingering at hip and breast as he mapped the shape of her with sure, practised strokes. Below, their limbs tangled together as she _rode_ his leg and her hand slid down between them to find his cock.

Reluctantly, he left off stroking and closed his hand over hers. "Not yet," he said quietly, taking her hand and laying it on her hip before sliding his own hand down between her legs. Brienne let out a soft gasp, but she didn't tell him it was too much or too soon. Instead, she simply rolled onto her back, muscles bunching and tensing as she stretched. Jaime waited until her body was relaxed again, and then he slid her hand up through springy hair and slick, silken folds. He smiled as he was rewarded with a shaky breath, and then he got down to work.

He'd become quite practised at this, too, in the past few days. He knew just where to stroke and tease and press and _slide_, listening to Brienne's gasps and breathy little moans to guide the tempo of his fingers, slick and slippery with her juices. All the time his eyes never left her face, watching for every tiny shift of expression, every visible reaction to his touch. It wasn't long, hardly any time at all, before her breath hitched, eyes closed tight as her head pushed back into the pillow and she tensed, while Jaime's hand _flew_ back and forth between her legs. His free hand found her breast again, tweaking the nipple as his mouth half-kissed, half-nipped her shoulder. Three pleasure points at once. He knew what that did to her.

Brienne's hips arched up off the bed as her moan cut through the near silence. It went on and on, even after Jaime was sure she must have run out of breath, until at last she slumped back onto the mattress, breathing hard. Beside her, Jaime grinned, hands gently ghosting along her skin now that she was on the other side and almost any touch at all was too much to bear. And if his grin was smug, well, he'd earned it, hadn't he?

After a while, Brienne's breath calmed and she turned on her side to face him. "Now?" she asked, a hand already on his shoulder, preparing to roll him over onto his back. This was how they usually did it, him lying there looking up at her, glorious above him as her legs clenched hard against his hips. It was the first time he'd been with someone long enough to have a usual way, he realised. Oh, he'd been in relationships that lasted longer than three days before, but if time were measured in orgasms given and received, he and Brienne had been together a lot longer than that.

"Yes, but not…" he said, reaching up to lace his fingers through Brienne's and slowly guide her hand away from his shoulder. "Lie back."

Brienne's eyebrows rose, but her lips quirked into a small, fond smile as she did what he asked. His hand slipped down and… there. He only had to touch her legs and they opened for him; he wasn't sure that she even noticed she'd done it. It was like some immutable law at work, action and reaction. He knelt between her legs, so long, so strong and smooth. He could have stopped to admire them properly, to lavish attention on them, but then Brienne tilted her hips up, and a moment after that he was above her, holding steady with one hand against the mattress as he positioned himself with the other, and yes, there. He closed his eyes and sighed as he pressed into her, the slick welcoming warmth of her closing around him as her hips rocked back and her legs wrapped around him, drawing him closer and deeper and _yes_.

With some effort, he stilled and opened his eyes, and there she was, all flushed and dark-eyed and _Brienne_, spread out beneath him on his bed, in his home, as the daylight slowly faded outside and Christmas Day turned into Christmas Night. He couldn't have asked for a better present.

"What?" she asked softly, as if afraid to break the silence too hard—as if she hadn't already broken it stupendously just minutes ago.

"I just…" he said, but he didn't say any more. He _couldn't_ say any more. He didn't have the words for it. Maybe those words didn't even exist. He bent to kiss her instead, trying to say with the touch of his lips everything that he couldn't find the words for. She kissed him back, but at the same time her hips rocked up and back, and he couldn't have resisted even if he'd wanted to. It was another one of those immutable laws, action and reaction, back and forth, in and out, faster and faster, and he hadn't wanted it to be like this, he'd wanted to take it slower, to savour this first time, to-

He cried out in mixed surprise and exhilaration as he crested the wave and it broke, slamming through him, pounding and buffeting like a king tide as he spent himself in long, ecstatic pulses, and it was _perfect, perfect, perfect_. 

A long time later, or at least _some_ time later—it was hard to say for sure—Jaime rolled onto his side and pulled Brienne close, nuzzling her hair. He pressed a kiss against the tiny hollow beneath her ear where her jaw met her long, lovely neck.

"Perfect," he whispered.

And, right then, in that moment, it was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finally got them to the end of Christmas Day in time for New Year!
> 
> Thank you to everyone who's continued to read this series - well, it's really one big story, as you know if you've read this far - over the past few months. This chapter brings my total word count since the end of May, when Jaime and Brienne made me start writing fanfic again, to just over 225,000 words. I can't quite believe I've written that much in such a short time, and I know your encouragement was part of what kept me going. 
> 
> Wishing you all a happy new year! I hope it brings us all - and Jaime and Brienne - lots of good things.
> 
> **ETA 6 Jan 2020: I just mentioned this in a reply to a comment below, so I thought I'd better put this here too: **
> 
> I live in the part of Australia that's badly affected by fire atm. None of the fires is in any way close enough to be a threat to me, but we've been getting a lot of dense smoke here and places I know well have been devastated by fire. It's been very upsetting, so right now I just can't find the right headspace to work on this story. I hope I'll feel a bit better in the next day or two and will be able to work on this story again soon, but if the next chapter ends up being a little delayed, that's the reason why.


	3. Brienne

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne takes some time out to think.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to slipsthrufingers, firesign and samirant for looking this over for me.

Brienne came awake slowly, not really sure where she was. But that was hardly anything unusual. She hadn't slept more than a couple of nights at most in the same bed in weeks. The warm, bare shoulder beneath her cheek, on the other hand, was… well it _was_, and that meant it didn't matter where she was when she woke up, so long as it was there. So long as _he_ was there. Jaime liked to kiss her awake, and not always on the lips. Brienne had no problem with that, to put it mildly, but it was nice to wake first this time. It was nice to be able to think coherently without being carried away on a wave of pleasure before she had time to even register what day it was.

She lifted her head, slowly and carefully so as not to wake Jaime, and propped herself up on one elbow so that she could take her time looking at him.

He was ridiculously good-looking. It shocked her every time she saw him after even a little time apart, to turn and look at him and be confronted with that picture of masculine beauty: the tall, lithe frame, the thick golden hair, the stubbled jaw line that sloped just so, cheekbones that went on and on, and green eyes, closed now, adding the final touch that set off everything else. It was a perfect picture. Even the uneven line of his nose only served to provide a touch of character to his face, and kept the absurd regularity of his other features from appearing _too_ perfect. That picture was far, far too gorgeous for Brienne to ever have a hope of attracting, never mind keeping even for the week that they had together. 

But then those eyes would spark with wicked humour, and the picture would turn into Jaime, the man who smiled and laughed with her—always with, never _at_—and who could, apparently, not get enough of her, in bed and out. Now, he sighed and moved restlessly in his sleep, muttering a few indistinct words before he slid deeper back into unconsciousness. Brienne was tempted to wake him in the manner that he'd been fast perfecting when waking her over the past few days, but she paused in the act of pulling back the sheet.

A little time to herself—just a very little—wouldn't hurt. They'd been so very together since literally the moment they met. Taking a moment to herself to pause and reflect… Yes, this was the time to do it. As soon as Jaime woke up he would claim her attention, and sometime later in the day his final Christmas surprise would be delivered—or she would be delivered to it. If the present was going to require that Brienne wear the ridiculously beautiful, ridiculously non-Brienne dress that Melisandre had created for her, then there was an excellent chance that Jaime's surprise would be happening in the evening.

So, yes. Now. First thing in the morning. This was the time to take that quiet breath that she needed.

She slowly swung her legs over the side of the bed, taking care to let the mattress shift beneath her as little as possible so as not to disturb Jaime. And then she was up, and ready to greet the new day. It was past first light, but still nowhere near as bright as the day was going to become later. Brienne guessed it was maybe half an hour after sunrise, or a little more than that. She slipped on a dress—one of the ones she'd bought not long after she'd arrived in Australia, once she'd discovered that jeans and boots were not a viable clothing option under the fierce antipodean summer sun—and gathered up the empty champagne bottle and flutes sitting on the bedside table. 

They'd gone downstairs in search of food last night, hours and hours after what Brienne would normally consider to be dinnertime. But then, they'd had other things on their mind when they'd first arrived at Jaime's house… and anyway, it wasn't as if they'd needed much more to eat after that enormously filling Christmas lunch.

Brienne smiled, remembering their makeshift dinner last night. She had taken charge, cutting slices from the fresh-baked—even on Christmas Day!—artisan sourdough loaf from the pantry, assigning Jaime the task of buttering the bread while she hunted down sandwich fillings. She'd found a leg of ham in a calico bag in the fridge, and small, bright green frilly lettuce of a type she couldn't identify, as well as the usual suspects like cheese and tomatoes. Jaime liked whole grain mustard on a ham sandwich, she'd discovered—one more little personal detail about him to add to her hoard of memories—and also, astonishingly, tinned beetroot.

_There is no way on earth that beetroot should ever be allowed near a cup of coffee—even in Byron Bay—but it definitely goes on a salad sandwich_, he'd told her. Brienne had only been able to shake her head, bemused, as she added several slices of beetroot to his sandwich. They'd sat on leather upholstered chrome stools at the longest kitchen island Brienne had ever seen—it was significantly longer than the antique formal dining table back at the farm when extended to its fullest—and eaten their sandwiches—Brienne's minus both beetroot _and_ mustard—while darting grins at each other like two children taking part in an illicit midnight feast.

They'd taken the rest of the champagne back upstairs with them afterwards and, well, there'd been nothing at all childlike about the rest of their evening until they finally drifted off to sleep together, Brienne pressed up close against the comforting length of Jaime's back.

Brienne reached the bottom of the stairs, turned towards the kitchen area of the enormous room, and discovered that she was not alone. There was a woman standing with her back to Brienne, wiping down the countertop. She was short and slight, and her long, brown hair was tied back out of the way in a ponytail. 

The woman turned as Brienne came closer, and Brienne saw that she was not only small and slight, but also young and pretty. _Nothing like me except in age_, Brienne thought before she could stop herself.

"Oh, you'll be Ms Tarth," the woman—though she looked as if she was scarcely more than a girl—said. "I'm Pia." She didn't actually curtsey, but there was something about her manner that suggested it. "Please, call me Brienne." She felt wretchedly uncomfortable. Jaime had called Peck and Pia household assistants, but there was no getting around the fact that in practice they were servants. "I'm sorry for disturbing you. I didn't expect that there'd be anyone else around at this hour."

"Oh, it's not a problem, Ms Tarth," Pia assured her, with a smile that revealed slightly crooked teeth. "I'm all done. I like to make sure that the kitchen's clean and sorted before I make a start on the rest of my day. Can I get you something, or would you prefer to wait until Mr Lannister comes down?"

Brienne—who hadn't thought further than taking the bottle and glasses to the kitchen, and then maybe having a look around the main living areas of the house without being under anyone's scrutiny while she did it—stared back at Pia. "A cup of tea?" It was the first thing that came into her head, but as soon as she said it, she knew that that was exactly what she needed. A cup of tea always made any situation better. "But I'll make it, if you could just point me to the tea things."

She half-expected Pia to demur, but the girl raised no objection, and pointed her to one of the cabinets above the counter. Apparently, Lannisters and their guests prepared their own beverages upon occasion. Even as she thought it, Brienne knew she wasn't really being fair. Making a cup of tea was the very first thing Jaime had ever done for her.

The cabinet was filled with a variety of different teas in jars and canisters, and a few unopened packages, many of them loose leaf and probably rare and expensive, but right at the end of the shelf Brienne spotted a large packet of ordinary tea bags. It proved to be about half empty. Clearly, the packet of bog standard tea bags didn't sit waiting around unopened for long. Huffing a tiny laugh, she took a tea bag, and then turned to search for a mug, only to find that Pia had already set one on the counter for her. Brienne's eyes widened. It was a familiar-looking mug, a Denby one just like her own favourite mug at home, except that the glaze on this was a deep red while hers was sky blue.

Jaime's world was so different from Brienne's that it was easy to believe that they had little in common apart from some undeniable chemistry. But the presence of this mug in Jaime's kitchen—a world away in every sense from Brienne's own—showed that they had similar taste, at least in some things, just as the unexpected appearance of the pole on the plane yesterday had woken their shared sense of humour. They were more alike than it seemed on the surface. 

Not that it really mattered, the small, nagging voice in her head reminded her yet again. This was just a holiday fling, and she would do well to remember that. Less than a week from now she would be back home in London, and Jaime and everything to do with him would be as much a part of her holiday memories—part of her past—as Australia itself.

She dumped the tea bag in the mug, and got to the sleek, glass and chrome kettle about a nanosecond ahead of Pia, filling it up to the lowest mark on the side and setting it to the boil. 

"Have you worked for Jaime very long?" Brienne asked, as she got the milk from the refrigerator.

"A bit over a year. Before that, I spent four years working in a commercial kitchen, after I finished at catering college." Was there just a hint of defensiveness in Pia's tone? 

Brienne tried not to let her surprise show on her face. Clearly, Pia was older than she looked. She was probably just as tired of being treated as if she were not quite a proper adult as Brienne was of being treated as if she were somehow not quite a proper woman. The most recent person to look at her that way had been Cersei Lannister, yesterday afternoon. Strangely, it hadn't hurt her in the way that sort of look usually did.

Or maybe not so strangely. Maybe all it took was for one person to look at her in a different way, a special way, even if it was just for a week.

Pia pulled open a drawer below the nearest of the twin wall ovens and took out a large, covered bowl, which turned out to contain bread dough. As Brienne watched, Pia gently folded the dough a few times before replacing the cover and returning the bowl to the drawer.

It was one of those drawers for leaving bread dough to rise in, Brienne realised. A proving drawer. She hadn't known that those existed outside the Great British Bake Off.

"You made the bread we had last night," Brienne said, feeling vaguely stupid for not working that out already.

"I did," Pia said with a little smile. "I make bread about every second or third day, usually, but the artisan bakery in Double Bay is closed until after new year, so I'm baking every day at the moment."

Trust Jaime to have someone to make fresh bread for him every day while the bakery was closed over the holidays, instead of stashing a loaf or two in the freezer like… well, like Brienne. The kettle chose that moment to come to the boil, though, so she was spared from the effort of attempting to make further conversation with a stranger—something she knew only too painfully well was not part of her skill set. Well, with every stranger except Jaime.

He'd never felt like a stranger, not from the very first moment, though maybe that was because he'd reminded her of a Hemsworth. Perhaps that had made her feel as if she should know him.

She poured the water into her mug and jiggled the tea bag impatiently until it achieved the perfect shade of deep brown with just the slightest hint of red that told Brienne the tea was strong enough. She tossed the tea bag into the bucket for the compost—the one thing in the kitchen where, she guessed, Peck's domain overlapped Pia's—added just a dash of milk, and took her tea over to the window. Well, the wall of windows.

There was the slightest suggestion of pink over to the east, but the rest of the sky was a clear grey-blue with not a cloud to be seen in any direction. It was going to be a beautiful day—her first spent in Sydney—just so long as the temperature didn't climb too high. The waters of the harbour looking inviting now, though. There was a shed—a boat shed?—at the bottom of Jaime's garden, and beyond it a short jetty. It might be nice to go down there and let her legs dangle over the water as she drank her tea.

"Pia?" she asked. "Is there an easy way to get down to the jetty from the house?"

"Yes, Ms Tarth." Pia came over, wiping her hands on her white apron. "There's a long flight of stairs starting right outside the back door—just through there—that will take you all the way down to the path at the bottom of the garden. Then you just have to follow the path the rest of the way around the boathouse."

"Thanks," Brienne said.

Pia smiled briefly, and returned to the kitchen.

Brienne found the back door—not so much a back door as a side door, lurking off to the left of the stairs—and the way down to the jetty, just as Pia had described. There was another storey to the house, beneath the main living area, that opened out onto a broad patio and the pool. This was just an ordinary pool—if anything about Jaime's house could be called ordinary—but Brienne's face still heated as she went past, remembering the infinity pool that belonged to the penthouse on the Gold Coast. 

The stairs took her down past trees and shrubs that were a strange mix of the familiar, like rose bushes, and the unfamiliar, which seemed to be nearly everything else: tall trees with broad leaves, smaller trees covered in purple flowers, vines snaking here and there, giant succulents, and huge spiky things that Brienne didn't even know how to categorise. It felt almost, but not quite, like a tropical garden—or at least like Brienne's idea of one. 

She stopped by the roses, feeling suddenly homesick—not for her life in London, but for the years before that, when she was growing up on the farm. Along the length of the final terrace towards the bottom of Jaime's garden, someone had planted two rows of standard Iceberg roses, white blooms and foliage at the top of a single thick stem making them look like little trees—just like the one that had grown by the front door of the farmhouse. And beside them, climbing along the high wall that acted as the fence between Jaime's property and the one next door, was another rose. The blooms on this one had orange-copper outer petals, fading through various shades of apricot before approaching something close to a pale yellow in the centre. She knew these roses, too. Westerland roses, that's what they were called. That had been one of her dad's jokes: growing Westerland roses when they were a stone's throw away from the most easterly point of the UK. She bent to smell one, and the heady, too-familiar fragrance filled not just her lungs but all of her, somehow.

_Home_, that fragrance said.

Brienne turned on her heel and hurried back to the stairs, going so fast that she sloshed some of the tea out of her mug as she went.

She reached the small, wooden jetty with a sigh of relief, setting down her mug of tea near the edge before pulling off her sandals. It must be somewhere close to high tide, she decided. The water level was high enough—and her legs long enough—that her feet reached the water when she sat with her legs over the side of the jetty. The water was cool, or cooler than she expected, anyway, but still nothing like as cold as the waters off the Norfolk coast where she'd learnt to swim.

This reminded her of home, too. Jaime wasn't the only one who liked to be close to the water.

Brienne glanced up at the house. From this side, all four storeys were clearly visible, with the ridiculous turrets on top, and the hedge that obscured the pool from prying eyes—and telephoto lenses—below. It was a stupidly large house for just one person to live in, even if it did come with its own jetty. Not even the Tyrells, who were the only-

Oh, God. She still hadn't heard from Margaery. And, even worse, Brienne hadn't tried to contact her again since yesterday morning. After everything that had happened yesterday, her friend had been the farthest thing from her mind.

Brienne's face grew hot, but it wasn't from thoughts of infinity pools this time.

She'd taken to carrying her phone in her hand most of the time—since the hot climate had forced her into wearing dresses, which meant no pockets—so she quickly found Margaery in her contacts, clicked on the face messenger icon, and waited while it buzzed. And buzzed. And buzzed. After a minute or so, she ended the call before it dropped out. 

Next, she sent a text, telling Margaery to _please_ reply as soon as she saw Brienne's message. It was delivered, but again—nothing. Brienne waited a couple of minutes, to give Margaery time to respond, just in case, but… Still nothing. The time on her phone said 5.44am, but of course it was still on Queensland time. It was an hour later here, and eleven hours ahead of London. A quarter to eight in the evening on Christmas Day. Margaery should definitely be awake. Brienne sighed. There was nothing else for it. She was probably going to be charged some outrageous sum for making an actual phone call to the other side of the world, but she needed to be sure. 

She called.

It was disappointing, but not exactly surprising, when she was put straight through to voicemail. It was also something of a relief. Margaery always diverted her calls to voicemail when she didn't want to be disturbed. She'd probably picked up some new… diversion at Loras and Renly's Christmas Eve party the night before, and now…

Brienne didn't wait to leave a message. Margaery would see her text the next time she bothered to look at her phone. She set down her own phone and picked up her tea. She sipped it and took in the view in front of her. Even at water level, it was spectacular, with the harbour spread out before her. The collection of little boats at anchor just off the point sat so still on the water that they almost looked like a painting rather than something real. The water moved gently around Brienne's feet before it flowed off toward the picturesque, crescent-shaped beach a bit further around the point, where it broke in small waves on the sand. There wasn't the slightest hint of wind, and out beyond the little cove, the waters of the harbour were almost equally still and flat. Brienne took another sip of her tea and exhaled, letting go of some of the tension that she hadn't been able to shake since she woke up, as she took in the tranquility of the scene. This was why she'd come out here, after all. The world around her was quiet, as though holding its breath, waiting for something. Right now, in this place and in this moment, it seemed as if she were the only person, the only living thing-

A deep, unhappy bellow broke the silence. It wasn't coming from anywhere nearby. It was probably only the very stillness and quiet she'd just been enjoying that allowed the sound to carry. Had it come from the other side of the harbour? And yes, there it came again, definitely from across the water. It sounded a little like an angry bull, only deeper and a bit more like a growl.

Jaime had said the zoo was on the opposite shore. It had to be some sort of wild animal call, but what sort of animal bellowed like that? 

"Good morning," Jaime called, as if summoned by her thoughts, a second before he came into view, following the garden path where it curved around the side of the boathouse. "Pia said I'd find you down here."

"It seemed like a nice spot to have my morning cup of tea as I watched the world go by—or maybe not go by, right now." Brienne patted the spot beside her, and smiled up at Jaime as he came over to join her. He carried a mug that was the mate of hers, she noticed.

Jaime kicked off his flip-flops and slipped down onto the jetty beside her. His legs were long enough to reach the water, too. "Hard to believe that there's a city of five million people all around us when it's like this." But he took her mug from her hand and set it down out of the way as he spoke, his attention clearly not on their surroundings. "Good morning," he said again, against her lips this time. "I missed you when I woke up." And then he was kissing her, just like he did first thing every morning, only this time they were both wearing more clothes than usual.

The kiss might have continued for some time if the strange bellowing sound hadn't started up again. Brienne broke away. "What was that?" she asked, frowning.

Jaime grinned, and Brienne could tell he was trying not to laugh. "_That_," he said, "is one of the lions at the zoo, waiting not very patiently for his breakfast."

"Like a house cat?" She knew she shouldn't have asked that, as soon as she said it, but by then it was already too late. 

"A lion isn't a house cat," Jaime said, his green eyes glinting in a way that reminded Brienne—if she'd needed reminding—that the gossip pages had long ago dubbed him 'the golden lion of the Lannisters'. He leaned in to kiss her again, a bit more seriously this time, or so Brienne thought, as his arms slid around her and pulled her close and…

She only had a split second to realise what was happening as they toppled forward and hit the water. It was the opposite of a clean dive, and her arms and legs stung as they slapped against the water side-on before it closed over her head.

Brienne came up spluttering. She swam the couple of strokes back to the jetty, grabbing onto the ladder that ran down its side and into the water. Stopping only to push her wet hair out of her face, she ascended the ladder and clambered back onto the jetty. She stood there, dripping, as she waited for Jaime to follow her up the ladder.

"Why did you do that?" she demanded, tight-lipped, when he joined her a moment later.

"I told you: a lion isn't a house cat," he said. He was grinning, _damn him_.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means that a lion can be unpredictable and dangerous—but he's more than willing to scrub your back while you wash off the salt water in the shower."

Brienne wanted to be angry. She did. And maybe she would have been if he'd merely pushed her off the jetty into the water. But he'd toppled the both of them in together, and now he was standing there, dripping just as much water as she was, and instead of looking bedraggled, as she no doubt did, he looked ridiculously,… Jaime, in all his golden lion Lannisterness. 

She couldn't deny that sharing a shower with Jaime as they… scrubbed each other's back was an attractive thought. At least, she couldn't deny it to herself. But there was no reason why she had to voice that particular thought.

Brienne tried to look stern. "You're going to make me another cup of tea afterwards," she told him. "_And_ toast. And you're going to do it yourself. No assistance from Pia."

"I think I can agree to those terms," Jaime said with a grin that was as feral as any lion's. He knew he'd won, _damn him_. "Let's go back up to the house."

Brienne bent to retrieve her tea mug and her phone, which had somehow mercifully _not_ been knocked into the water as she and Jaime fell, and picked up her sandals.

As they dripped their way back up the stairs, it occurred to Brienne that shower sex would make a good substitute for their usual 'good morning' sex. Was that why Jaime had done it? She wished she knew how to stay angry with him. She wished she knew how to even _be_ angry with him for more than a fleeting moment. It would make everything easier if he were a bit more like a normal person and a little less like… not a Lannister, but a little less like Jaime. 

She slipped her hand into his as they reached the rose garden, and he turned to her and smiled.

And God help her, because she couldn't stop herself from smiling back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brienne's surprise present coming up in the next chapter!
> 
> Also: being able to hear the lions bellowing across the harbour on a still morning is a real thing! I know someone who used to live near where Jaime does and he used to listen to them.
> 
> ETA: I've just belatedly remembered that this chapter brings the Aussie Coffee 'verse to just over 103,000 words, which makes it the longest thing I have ever written. This fandom has been full of milestones for me since I started writing again last May, but I think this milestone is my favourite. :)


End file.
